


I'll Bear All This Echoing

by thefairfleming



Category: The White Princess (TV)
Genre: F/M, Snuggle Fluff, but mostly Domestic Cuddling, slight angst if you know history I guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-06 02:25:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11026635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefairfleming/pseuds/thefairfleming
Summary: She still burns too hot, even with him. Especially with him. Their arguments have blistered her maids’ ears, no doubt, and the nights- and afternoons- they’ve locked themselves in her chamber or his….well, those have probably caused their share of blushes and averted eyes as well.Then are nights like tonight, where they simply lie in his bed, still in their nightclothes, his head resting on her stomach, her fingers playing in his hair. There’s an ease to him in these moments, a calmness so unlike his usual wariness, and it tugs something in her heart every time.





	I'll Bear All This Echoing

Lizzie has never thought of herself as a particularly peaceful person. She’s always known that she’s too impetuous, too rash, too quick to any emotion, but she’s never seen any reason to change that. It’s as much as part of her as the color of her eyes, and her mother used to watch her fondly, shaking her head. “You burn too hot, my Lizzie,” she’d once said, but there had been affection in it. Much more so than when her nurse called her “a handful.”

But with Henry she feels...different.

She still burns too hot, even with him.  _ Especially _ with him. Their arguments have blistered her maids’ ears, no doubt, and the nights- and afternoons- they’ve locked themselves in her chamber or his….well, those have probably caused their share of blushes and averted eyes as well.

Then are nights like tonight, where they simply lie in his bed, still in their nightclothes, his head resting on her stomach, her fingers playing in his hair. There’s an ease to him in these moments, a calmness so unlike his usual wariness, and it tugs something in her heart every time. 

He had other women before her, of course, but she is the only one to give him this, this sanctuary, this moment of peace where he can simply be a man lying in a woman’s arms rather than a king. 

And then she realizes that if she is the only woman to give this to him, then he is also the only man to ever seek it from her. The only man who has ever needed her thus.

It’s a thought with sharp edges, as so many of her thoughts and feelings about Henry have had over the years, feelings sometimes too complicated and thorny to sort out, but in this moment, lying in their bed with the fire crackling before them, it seems a simple enough thing- he is her husband, the father of her children, and she loves him. Like scores of women before her, and scores after. 

If only it were that easy…

She’s lost in her thoughts and hasn’t realized that her hand has stilled in his hair until he turns his head slightly, nuzzling the underside of her breast through her gown. “Don’t stop,” he murmurs sleepily, and Lizzie’s fingers resume their gentle stroking.

Smiling, she ducks her head to whisper, “Quite the novelty, the two of us abed and  _ you _ saying ‘don’t stop.’”

Henry chuckles, his hand sliding along her hip, thumb playing in the hollow there. “Bawd,” he mutters, and Lizzie’s smile widens as she gives his hair a slight tug.

“You do not mind it,” she replies, and he presses a brief kiss to her abdomen.

“I do not,” is all he says, but Lizzie hears the warmth behind the words and knows that what he means is that he loves it, as he loves all of her, even the parts that occasionally drive him mad.

They’re quiet again then, and he’s so still that Lizzie thinks he’s finally drifted off to sleep when his voice rumbles against her skin.

“I could not do this without you. Without this.”

Lizzie’s hand stills again, and she blinks against the sudden stinging in her eyes because this admission feels weighty and delicate all at once, and for a moment, she doesn’t know what to say. Years of marriage and three children between them, but they still do not speak of love when they’re together, though she knows what’s in both their hearts.

 When she finds her voice again, it’s firm. “You could,” she promises him. “You are a king, Henry, you are England’s king, and you would-,”

“Lizzie,” he says, lifting his head to look at her, and Lizzie’s hand drops from his hair to cup his cheek. She runs her thumb along his lips and watches his eyes darken, an answering heat beginning to unspool in her belly.

Tonight is not for that, however. Or perhaps just this moment is not. There have been many nights they’ve fallen asleep as innocently as children only to wake in the night and fall hungrily upon each other. Tonight may be the same.

But for now, Henry only turns his head, kissing her palm before settling back against her, draped across her body, his hand covering the back of hers. 

Lizzie’s fingers resume their gentle movements against his temple and she continues to stroke his hair long after his slow and steady breathing tells her he’s asleep. 


End file.
